


SHOWERS/FLOWERS

by snk_writing_requests



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Jeanmarco Month, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snk_writing_requests/pseuds/snk_writing_requests
Summary: Jean is a prince, Marco his servant, but Jean's mother didn't teach him to judge a person by their job





	SHOWERS/FLOWERS

Marco was standing in the bathroom of Prince Jean’s room, holding up his clothes not to let them get soaked with the shower steam.   
He could hear the water falling on the ground, rythmically, stopped now and then when Jean would stand under the spray. Marco tried very hard not to focus on this detail: Jean’s naked body shining with clear droplets running down, defining his muscles and curves, soaking his hair, his chest, pubic and leg hairs, while his hands, those slender and elegant hands, would cover his body in a delicate foam from the soap, passing through that undercut that would look stupid on anybody, but it only needed to accentuate Jean’s sharp edges and making him even more appealing.   
The silence broke his fantasy, and he offered the young Prince his towel, watching him dry his skin, a bit red from the warm water, before giving him his clothes: a white bottom up shirt, brown slacks, vest and shoes, together with a little golden belt that only needed to accentuate his slender waist.   
That afternoon, Marco heard Jean calling for him, asking him to model for him for a portrait. Marco’s eyes widened  
“Me, sir? Why, if I may ask?”  
Jean blushed and looked away, looking like he was trying to come out with an excuse, until his eyes sparkled   
“Your skintone! Yes, I have something in mind and your skin tone and those freckles of yours will just be great”  
Marco thanked him both for the honour and the praise, and let Jean lead the way to a poppy field, waiting there while Jean went to collect some other flowers: roses, violets, forgetmenots and braided them in a crown that put on Marco’s head, before asking him to sit in the poppies.   
Marco obliged and sat still for hours, until Jean told him he was done, asking him to check on his work.   
Marco was breathless, he looked amazing, his eyes were shining, his skin all soft features and his freckles looked somehow appealing, and the flowers only helped to frame the image in a sweet undertone.   
Marco couldn’t explain how much he liked the painting, and Jean was utterly flattered by this. 

A couple days went by, before Marco, one night, went to bed and found the painting on his mattress, with a piece of paper on it, opening he read:

Marco,   
I can’t convince myself to talk to you about this, so here I am writing it down without looking in your eyes, like the coward I am.   
Please accept this present, and keep in mind that no one matters like you do to me.   
If you want me,   
forever yours, Jean

Marco fell asleep with that tiny piece of paper under his pillow, and since that day, Jean had no other muse for his art, and no other help during his showers, and it wasn’t unusual to see the Prince and Marco walking together, hand in hand, and it became more and more frequent to see Marco walking towards Jean’s room at evening, to sleep in his room.  
The other servants would say something about it, but after all Jean’s mother, the Queen, never cared about rholes and rules when it came to choose one’s mate: the current King, her husband, was the cook of the palace when she was just a princess, and there had never been a better ruler


End file.
